


The motives in your head

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse 2.0 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst, Dark, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting, from tony's perspective, the last 2 chapters of beautiful oblivion told over again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Peter straightens the neckline of his suit and shakes out his mask, poised and ready.  His usual eagerness glints in his eyes, but it’s distorted.  Desperate.  Sick.  It rattles Tony to his bones._____Or, how Tony saw things.The last 2 chapters of Beautiful oblivion over again in a different voice.





	The motives in your head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mohini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/gifts).



> Thank you to one of my favorite writers for one of my favorite prompts. This was...so entirely called for. Thank you for requesting this. 
> 
> That said, though, please no more ED-related prompts for the time being. I know I said hit me with them, but I'm touch and go at the moment, and I don't want to have to say no. I'm still going to write this 'verse, it just has to be on my terms. (I'm not trying to be difficult, I promise). I had an easy enough time writing this (and I had a good time working on it, too), but by the time I finished I was so emotionally exhausted that I had to have my beta do the editing. (Big thanks to her, btw).

Tony drums his fingers on the countertop, wondering if he even dares to make the call.  He’s been meaning to reach out. To check in, ask how the kid’s doing. But every time he thinks about it, he finds something more pressing to do.  Like tweak his armor for the eighth or ninth time this week. Really important.

He can’t play games with himself today, though.  There’s only one important thing on the docket. 

“FRIDAY?” Tony says, eyeing the flashing radar on the holographic map he has pulled up.

“Sir?”  The AI responds.

“Call the kid.”

***

It doesn’t take long for Happy to retrieve Peter from Queens and bring him to the compound.  Tony’s in the bedroom putting on clean jeans and a t-shirt when FRIDAY lets him know his guest is suiting up in his own room. 

“Ok,” Tony responds absently.  “Ok.” He squeezes toothpaste on his toothbrush.  This isn’t part of the pre-mission routine. He’s just buying time, and he knows it. 

_ You need to get a move on.  This is not the way to handle things. _

But after checking the radar again and seeing little change in the criminals’ position, he gives himself permission to keep waffling.  It’s not like he knows how to talk to a teenage boy anyway, even when things aren’t very clearly fucked up.

Tony finishes getting ready and takes the elevator down a floor.  He sees the light on in Peter’s room as soon as he steps into the hall.  He walks slowly, so the kid will have an opportunity to hear him coming. At least that’s the reason he tells himself.

Peter doesn’t look up when Tony reaches the doorway, though.  He faces away, looking into the mirrored closet door. He’s wearing his suit, but not his mask.  And he looks terrible. 

Tony had designed the suit to adjust to fit.  He’d been thinking of easy on and off and young adult growth spurts.  Now he regrets his decision, because what he sees through the spider image on the kid’s back is not something he wants to see, ever.  Each rib stands out clearly, the spandex of the suit clinging like shrink wrap. His arms look like twigs. His legs are already shaking.

“What the…” Tony starts.  He knew Peter wasn’t doing so hot.  But this? He looks like a Holocaust victim.  “Fuck.”

“What?”  The kid turns around.  He raises his brows, and Tony gets a good look at his protruding cheekbones. 

“Kid…”  Tony can’t keep his hands off his own face.  He draws his hand over his mouth, feeling skin and muscle beneath his stubble, then embeds his fingers in his goatee. 

When did this happen?  How did this happen? What did he miss?  “We have to talk.” The words are heavy and almost frightening coming out of Tony’s mouth, but he doesn’t have a choice.  He may not know what to do, but leaving this hanging is not an option.

“Right now?  I thought we had a mission.”  Peter straightens the neckline of his suit and shakes out his mask, poised and ready.  His usual eagerness glints in his eyes, but it’s distorted. Desperate. Sick. It rattles Tony to his bones.

“There’s a mission,” Tony says slowly, hardly daring to blink.  If he loses the tie of eye contact, he’s afraid the kid will hit the floor.  He takes a step closer to Peter. “You…you can’t go. Not like that.”

“But I’m ready.  I’m good.” 

Tony can hear it now, too.  The hoarseness to his voice, a level of exhaustion a teenager shouldn’t have.  “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.” He gets toe-to-toe with the kid.  Close enough to see that his upper lip is trembling as much as his arms and legs. Tony closes his fist around Peter’s mask and gently yanks it out of his grip.

There’s an uncomfortable pause.  “I’m ok,” Peter says. The way he tries to imbue his voice with strength just makes it more pathetic.

“No, you’re not.”  Tony swallows before letting his thoughts trip out.  “You’re all bones under that spandex. Sit down.” He points at the bed, hoping his hands will stay steady.  “We’re airing this out right now.”

“But—the mission.  I thought you said you needed me.”  Peter doesn’t move. He juts his jaw forward.

Tony waits for him to blink.  Then he takes a deep breath. How the hell is he going to say this?  The number of personal conversations he’s had in his life is, what, two?  Three? And they always seem to be about him. But this kid needs him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. 

“We do need you,” Tony starts.  “We need…to not lose you.” It comes out heavier than Tony means.  He presses his lips together and swallows. He’s not going to cry. Peter already looks like he’s going to cry.  Plus Tony’s not sure if he’s sad or angry. “Fucking sit down,” he hisses. “Before you fall over.”

Peter obeys, giving Tony a confused and borderline frightened look.  He squeezes his hands together in his lap. Tony perches on the edge of the mattress beside him.  It’s a father-like gesture, and the association catches Tony off guard. There should be a lot of weight to a moment like this, and Tony can’t help but feel like he’s doing it all wrong.  If he messes this up, he’s not the only one who’s going to get hurt.

He locks onto the kid’s gaze again.  “Kid. Peter. What are you doing to yourself?”

Peter looks away.  “Nothing,” he mumbles.  “I’m fine.”

Figures.  Tony feels a surge of frustration.  But if someone were poking at his innermost secrets, what would he be saying?  Probably a whole lot of the same thing.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine,” Tony says.  “I’ll call Pepper. Or May. You want me to do that?” He keeps his voice measured, but he still wonders if it was too harsh.

“No, I…  We’ve got stuff to do…”  Another non-answer. He’s evading, and that makes Tony want to grab the kid by the shoulders and shake him.  That would probably kill him, though. 

“Forget about it.  Nat’s already chasing them.  She can get it started. Maybe she’ll tap Banner or Hawkeye or somebody,” Tony says in a rush.  “I don’t know. I don’t really care.” 

“If there’s bad tech out there, if people are in danger,”  Peter swallows. He looks one second from losing it. 

Tony takes another stabilizing breath and regroups.   _ Be gentle. _  “It’s my job to address crisis.  It’s also my job to protect this team,” Tony says.  “And if I put you out there, you’re the one that’s going to be crushed.  Not some onlooker.” He breaks from Peter’s gaze and lets his eyes flicker to the outline of his collarbone.  “I don’t care what kind of enhancements are in your suit. They’re not going to protect you. I’m trying to keep you alive here.”

The kid stares blankly for a moment.  Then, quietly, “What if I don’t care?”

The words hang in the air, slowly crystallizing into everything Tony’s afraid of.  What is he supposed to say to that? He barely relates to that. He doesn’t know how to help a kid through…that.  “That’s the problem,” he says. “If you’re suicidal, your head’s not in the game.” His anger flares again, and it’s another push to just get the words out, get it all over with.   “I know you’re starving yourself.”

Because that’s what it has to be.  What’s happening to Peter, it doesn’t occur overnight.  Suddenly all the little bits come together, the skipped meals, the obsessive interest with missions and the gym.  Tony wonders why he didn’t notice. Then he wonders if he’s been feeding it.

“I’m fine,” Peter whispers.  He sounds like he’s pushing down tears.

Tony’s not so far away himself.  “If that’s what you think…” He shakes his head.  “You’re a long way from fine. You passed that milestone a long time ago.”

The kid gives a frustrated huff, but it’s so weak that Tony almost wants to laugh.  But that’s sick. The whole situation is sick.

“You don’t have to pretend like you care,” Peter mumbles.

Disgust rises in Tony’s chest .  Peter’s right. That’s what he’s been doing, hasn’t he?  All the lame-ass,  _ so, how was school?  _ comments coming back to bite him.  His ineptitude makes him angry as he searches again for words.  He’d thought he was giving Peter what he needed. He really couldn’t have done worse, though.  The kid’s dying under his lackluster supervision. 

“Hey, I didn’t say anything because I respected your space,” Tony shoots back.   _ Don’t argue, come on.  Don’t argue with him. _  “I didn’t want to get all up in your business if you were into health food or trying to impress a chick or something.  Trust me, I know it was a mistake now.”

Peter drops his elbows to his knees and his forehead into his hands.  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.

The change in posture startles Tony as much as the expletive.  He hovers an inch from Peter’s shoulder, unsure whether touching him will help or hurt.

“It’s not about girls.  It’s never been about girls.  I tried liking them, but it doesn’t work.  I…” A sob garbles the rest of his sentence. 

Tony retracts his hands.  What has he done? How has he bungled this up so badly?  He’s trying to help, goddammit, not offend the kid. 

But if he’s keeping that secret on top of everything else…no wonder he’s having a hard time.  Something else Tony can’t begin to understand, but has to master, right now, so Peter doesn’t slip away. 

Tony takes a breath.  “I’ve been making assumptions.  That’s my bad.” It’s an understatement.  “But that’s not the point. I can’t watch you hurt yourself.  Not anymore.”

“I’m not hurting myself,” Peter mutters.  He would sound dejected if his voice wasn’t so blank.  “I deserve it. It’s better this way.”

Tony doesn’t mean to grit his teeth.  “Watching you turn into a skeleton is not better,” he says.  “For anyone involved.

“You mean for you.”

Anger flashes again before he can stop it.  “Yeah, it fucking hurts me. But you haven’t been thinking about that, have you?”  He’s shouting now. “No, it’s all about you and whatever the hell you’re trying to prove.”

And the kid starts to cry.  Loud rising sobs he’s not even trying to stifle.  He’s not even fighting. He pushes his fingers into the sides of his head, his entire body trembling with the effort.

“God, see, I don’t know how to do this.”  Tony sighs so he doesn’t betray the crack in his voice.  He drops his hands to his knees, and the slapping sound seems too loud against the backdrop of Peter’s sniffles.  “You have to stop.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.  Just stop.” Tony’s desperate now.  Listen to me. “Please, kid, come on.”  He closes his hand around Peter’s wrist, unsettled by how completely his palm encircles the joint.  “Your goddamn arms are shaking,” he says with a morbid chuckle. “Stop trying to punch holes in your skull.”

The kid doesn’t move.  “I don’t…I can’t…”

“Peter.  Come on.”  Tony pulls his forearm, unsure of how much strength to put against the kid.  What he does give is too much, and Peter’s skinny torso falls against Tony’s chest. 

All Tony can do is embrace him.  He keeps ahold of Peter’s wrist and wraps his other arm around the kid’s back.  His watch practically clatters off the kid’s shoulder blade, but he keeps reaching until he hooks Peter’s bicep.  “Just come’ere.”

Peter’s face presses into Tony’s t-shirt, dampening the clean fabric with tears and snot.  “No…”

“Calm down.  Just…” Tony searches for words that aren’t lies.  “It’s gonna be fine.”  _ Do you know?  Do you, really?  _

He doesn’t, and that scares him.  It scares Tony more than he’d like to admit.  Up until this moment, he hadn’t been sure he’d cared so much.  “I’m gonna get Pepper, ok?” he murmurs.

“…No…”  Peter’s voice is shot, and the word catches like a hiccup between breaths.

“We’re not done talking about this.  But right now you have to calm down,” Tony sighs.  “I don’t know how to do this anymore kid.”

He doesn’t know how to relate.  He can barely speak for fear of bursting into tears too.  He’s not a counselor. He’s not even a dad. He’s a fucking mechanic. 

But he’s going to fix it.  Peter’s going to be angry with him.  Hell, he’s probably going to be angry with himself for a while yet.  But he’d be stupid not to try.

“Fuck you,” the kid huffs into Tony’s chest.

“Yeah.  Don’t I know it.”  He adjusts the pressure he’s exerting on Peter’s wrist.  “FRIDAY?” Tony sighs.

“Sir?” the AI responds.

“Get Pepper up here.  With, I don’t know, a glass of water.  A heating pad, something. Cause…we are not ok.”

***

Peter’s limp against Tony’s chest by the time Pepper shows up.  He has both arms wrapped around the kid’s back, and his thoughts keep cycling through the same short circuit.   _ How did he not notice?  Why is he doing it? How did it blow up so out of control? _

“Peter?” Pepper asks, squatting and putting a hand gently on the kid’s shoulder.  “How about a sip of water?”

It takes along minute for him to stir, and he moves gingerly as if he’s in pain.  The tremor in Peter’s body is only more pronounced, and Tony can practically see his headache.  He doesn’t know whether to keep his hands on the kid or not. He ends up letting go when Peter scrabbles upright, but he keeps his palms open, hovering at his shoulders.

“There you go.  Alright. Little sips,” Pepper encourages when he accepts the glass.  He can barely hold it up as he takes a pained swallow. 

Tony catches Pepper’s eye over the kid’s head, and he tries to communicate in a squint and a set of his lips that things are bad.  So bad he’s scared. He hopes she’ll know what to do to get them through this moment.

Pepper doesn’t acknowledge him, but Tony knows she gets the message.  She’s always been more poised than he has. 

“Ok, good,” she whispers.  Pepper gives the kid a tissue and reaches up to wipe a tear track from his cheek.  Another tear falls, though, and his face crumples.

Tony lets out his breath as his heart breaks.   _ What can you possibly do for him? _

“Do you want to lie down for a while?” Pepper asks.  She pats Peter’s shoulder, lingering maybe a second too long on the protruding bone on the outside of the joint.  “Would that help?”

Tony wonders why he didn’t think of that.  It doesn’t matter; he called Pepper up to do what he knew he couldn’t.  He still feels worthless in the crisis, though.  _ So be better _ , he tells himself.   _ Fucking learn.  Make sure this doesn’t happen again.  It’s not going to happen. _

“I…” Peter shakes his head the tiniest amount.  It still makes him look like he’s going to fall over.  “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we try that?”  Pepper starts shifting pillows, and the kid practically throws himself into them.  He falls onto his side and curls his knees in toward his hollow chest. A new wave of sobs starts.  Tony’s not sure he can stand it.

He pushes himself up and sighs, trying to let go of the sadness and frustration. 

 

“Do you want to go downstairs?”  Pepper asks quietly. She glances from Tony to Peter’s shaking frame.  “I can stay with him.”

“I, no, this is…”  Tony doesn’t know how to phrase it.  “My responsibility.”

“Tony, hey—”

Pepper reaches for him, and he pulls back.  A dam breaks, and the words rush out. “Do you not see him?  The kid needs to be in a goddamn hospital!” he shouts. ‘This is…this isn’t working.  I don’t know how to do this anymore.” He can’t stop saying it, because nothing’s ever felt truer, even if it feels terrible.

“It’s ok.”  Pepper reaches out again, and this time Tony lets her place her hand on his arm. “I know,” she murmurs.  “But now isn’t the time. Let’s get through tonight.”

“This is not ok,” Tony says.

“I know.  I know. But that’s not what’s going to help.”

Tony shoves himself to his feet and backs away from Pepper, right into the wall.  “I can’t let this go.” His voice breaks, and a tear runs down his cheek. “I can’t let him go.”

Pepper turns her head back to Peter, and she ghosts her fingers over his elbow.  “I know,” she murmurs again.

Minutes pass, and the kid keeps crying.  Tony keeps crying. 

“If you want, we can talk about it,” Pepper offers, the side of her face pressed into the pillow beside Peter’s forehead.  “You can say whatever you want. I’ll listen.” She’s talking to the kid. Tony wishes maybe she’d ask him, too, but later.  That’s not what’s important now.

“You don’t  have to,” she presses on, “But you’re allowed to be sad or angry or whatever you’re feeling.  No one’s going to take that away from you.”

Peter gives a choking sob, and Pepper pats his back, right between the overdrawn shoulder blades.  “Peter, it’s alright. Whatever’s bothering you, it can’t hurt to let it out.”

The kid gives a shaky breath, then moans into the pillowcase.  “I didn’t even go to the fucking prom.”

Tony almost scoffs.  The kid’s dying, and that’s what he’s thinking about?  Does he not realize there are bigger issues at hand? 

And then it hits him.  The kid’s dying  _ and he knows it _ .  And he doesn’t care.  Not about the future, not about anything.  He’s let some dumb things slip by, and he’s upset about some stupid high school thing he doesn’t think he’s ever going to experience…

Tony presses his hand over his mouth so the kid doesn’t hear him sob.

“Alright, keep breathing,” Pepper whispers.  “You’re going to be ok. We’re going to make sure of that.”  She murmurs in Peter’s ear, but Tony tries to take the words to heart as well.

The kid shifts on his side, and the tempo of his breathing changes.  He sounds like he’s choking.

“Peter, hey,” Pepper says.  She rubs larger circles into his back.

“I don’t feel good,” Peter says.  He gags and slaps his gloved hand over his mouth.

“Ok, ok, here you go.”  Pepper pulls the trashcan from under the nightstand and holds it with one hand as she supports the kid’s head with the other. 

He retches up the water he drank, and Tony can barely stand to listen.  What’s he been doing to himself? “God, kid…” He shakes his head.

“Come on, it’s not his fault,” Pepper says.

“Maybe not this time,” Tony mutters before he can stop himself.  “You can’t do this.”

“Shhh.”  The kid’s hacking, but Tony knows Pepper’s talking to him.   _ Just shut up.  Just let him rest. _

“It’s going to be better tomorrow,” she whispers.   She keeps her lips close to Peter’s ear, but she looks at Tony.  “Maybe not a lot, but it’s going to be better than this. I promise.”

***

The next morning, Tony sits at the kitchen table while Pepper makes phone calls.  He has FRIDAY on alert to let him know when the kid wakes up, but he can’t stop checking the surveillance cameras anyway.  He flicks through a couple different angles on a holographic screen hanging over his untouched plate of waffles. 

Pepper brings him a cup of coffee and holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder so she can reach up and minimize the window.  She gives Tony a sympathetic smile. 

Finally the AI relays that Peter’s awake.  And drinking water. Thank god. Tony’s halfway to the elevator before he realizes he has no idea what he wants to say.

He knocks on the kid’s door and starts simple.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter whispers back.  His voice is shot, and he won’t make eye contact, but he’s communicative.  It feels like a win.

“Your, uh,” Tony says, sitting down in his place on the edge of the bed.  “Your aunt’s on her way. Pepper gave her a call.”

The kid sighs.  His shoulders draw further forward, making him look even smaller and more crumpled.

Tony puts his hand on Peter’s knee.  “I know this is tough, alright?” he says.  Time to push it out. “I…last night didn’t go right.  And, uh. I’m sorry.” He rests his eyes shut for a moment before trying to find Peter’s.

“No, I’m sorry,” the kid starts.  He has the empty water glass in one hand, and he bounces it against the bedding with what has to be pure nerves.  He can’t possibly have energy from anything else.

Tony wants to tell him to chill out.  But instead he says, “You don’t have to sort through everything right now.  Actually, it’s probably better if you don’t.” He takes the glass from the kid’s hand.  Maybe that will convince him he really can relax. 

“And,” Tony continues, “I’m apologizing here, so I’d rather you didn’t interrupt me.  Hm?” He gives Peter a sideways look and the ghost of a smile.

Peter just blinks at him.

Tony lets out a breath.  The last few sentences weren’t so hard.  Now for the serious. “You’re…you’re real sick, you know?”  His heart hammers as he waits for the kid to respond.

Finally he whispers, “Yeah…”

“I should’ve said something sooner.”  Tony looks through the bottom of the glass.  It’s amazing how much it easier it is than looking the kid in the eye. 

“’S not your fault,” Peter murmurs.  ‘It wouldn’t’ve helped.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t’ve,” Tony shrugs.  “But I’ve been making you feel like you don’t matter, and that’s my bad.”  He moves his gaze upward as he says, “That’s because I don’t know how to do this shit, not because I don’t care about you.”

Peter holds his gaze for a moment.  “Oh.” He looks down and digs his thumbnail into the side of his knuckle.

Tony keeps talking.  He knows the kid is listening.  “If you’re gay, or if you have…” He grapples with the words, “An eating disorder.  Or whatever kind of issues. It doesn’t matter.” 

_ Wait, no. _  The words fall out before he can arrange them.  The last thing he needs is to create the wrong impression.  Tony shakes his head. “I mean, of course it matters. But none of it makes you a worse person.”  He can’t stand watching Peter continue to hurt himself, and he reaches for the kid’s hand, forcing his fingers apart.  “None of it keeps me from caring about you. It doesn’t keep Pepper from caring about you. Or May.”

“I don’t want to tell May.”  Peter looks ready to cry again.

“Kid…”  Tony squeezes his hand.  He’s not going to tell him what he overheard Pepper say on the phone.  He’s still going to tell him the truth, though. “She knows,” Tony says.  “Even if you haven’t told her. She loves you more than anybody. She just doesn’t know what to say either.”

That last sentence might not have been about Aunt May, but Peter needs to hear it.

Peter screws up his eyes, but not before a tear escapes down his cheek.  “It doesn’t seem like anybody does.”

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Tony says firmly.  “I have a lot of contacts.” Well, Pepper does. “Doctors, whoever you need to see.  We can have them come here. May won’t have to pay for anything.” Tony hopes he doesn’t sound desperate.  He feels desperate. 

“You…you’d do that?”  Quiet awe comes through under the tears.

“I spend a lot of money on stupid stuff,” Tony says, in need of a quip to lighten the mood.  “This would be…a welcome change. It’s not a lie when people say doing good makes you feel good.”  Right at this moment, he feels better than he has in the last 12 hours. Tony’s keen to hold onto it.

Tears run full-force down Peter’s cheeks, and his voice breaks as he says, “I don’t want to be your charity case.   And…” He looks guilty. ‘”I don’t know if I want to… If I can…”

Pressure of emotion fills Tony’s chest.  What can he say? What can he be sure of?  Nothing, really. But nothing’s outside the realm of possibility, either.  “I know it’s gonna be hard.” That’s one thing that is for sure. “But you’re gonna do fine.  You’re gonna bounce right back.” He smiles as his words gain momentum. “You’ll be back on the team before you know it.”

Peter scrubs the back of his hand across his cheeks.

Tony deposits the glass on the bedside table and opens the dresser.  He pulls out a pair of jeans and tosses them across to the kid. “Here.  I’ll trade ya.”

Peter’s face falls.  “You’re…taking the suit?” 

He can’t have expected anything else.  But he still sounds disappointed. 

“Mm.” Tony thinks about it.  “Not really. More like holding onto it for you.”  He holds hard to Peter’s gaze, trying his best to make his words true.  “Just for a little while.”


End file.
